


Every war has it's silver lining

by zaynandlouis



Category: Big Brother RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eating Disorders, First Time, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:55:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaynandlouis/pseuds/zaynandlouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>frankie imagines he looks a bit like bambi, knobby knees bumping together as he scampers through the forest. he hopes that one day he will be thin enough to do something so delicate as scamper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Green

**Author's Note:**

> au based on the film how i live now. frankie as daisy and zach as edmond. if you've never seen the film, daisy is an american teenager who battles with anorexia and hears voices in her head. the same themes are present in this au.
> 
> title is a quote from the novel the film is based on. as always, thank you to amanda for being my beta.

_useless. work towards a goal. fat thighs. fat arms. be successful. ugly, ugly. take risks. life isn’t fair, life’s never fair. three in four boys never come out to their fathers. coward. today is a new day. fuck you._

the plane’s landing gear hits the runway with a harsh thud and frankie’s eyes snap open.

as he walks through the airport, frankie wonders if the people at the checkpoints know; if they can hear the voice in his head too. he knows they can’t.

he keeps his headphones on until he has to show his passport. the man behind the glass motions for him to take them off, and he does, long enough to slip the passport under the glass and have it passed back under. 

there are guards and officers with arm-length guns lining the walls, and frankie makes eye contact with all of them. he never flinches. to be successful, you must be sure of yourself. frankie’s good at looking sure of himself. 

he stands in the pick-up and drop-off area for what must be a solid ten minutes before a young boy comes up to him.

"frank?" 

"yeah. frankie," frankie corrects. his father’s name is frank. his name is frankie. he is not his father.  _do not be your father._

the boy leads him out of the airport, and then to the car. it’s parked a good half mile away from the airport, but frankie doesn’t ask why. he doesn’t ask if the boy’s old enough to have a license and he doesn’t ask why there are so many empty wrappers and bottles strewn around the inside of the vehicle.

he keeps his mouth shut until the boy decides to inform him his name is oliver, and he’s the “middle-ish” sibling. even then, he just gives a hum. 

when they pass the first military vehicle, frankie flinches, thinking the officer posted at it will notice that oliver is barely tall enough to see over the steering wheel. he doesn’t. 

frankie dodges conversation with oliver twice more, but it’s a long ride and eventually he gives in. 

"livvy will be really excited to see you. she’s the only girl, and the youngest, so we all give her a hard time. mom told her you’re really nice, so she expects you to want to play with her," oliver laughs at the end, feeling awkward. he’s hoping that if he just keeps talking eventually frankie will talk back.

"i’m not very nice," is all frankie says.

"oh."

they ride in silence the rest of the drive. 

 

* * *

 

the house itself is barely visible through all the greenery. trees, vines, bushes, and plants pillow around the structure. 

it would be sort of enchanting, under different circumstances. 

frankie barely gets his feet on the ground (which is about the only thing not green, but a dusty brown of packed dirt instead) before he’s attacked by puppies. it’s much less pleasant than it sounds.

there are four; one black with patches of white, and the rest solid black.

they’re not large, but with their combined effort they manage to knock frankie onto his back. 

his vision’s too blurred from the head-to-ground impact to make out who comes to stand above him. whoever it is, they offer their hand. he takes it, and it’s far too sturdy to be oliver’s.

the hand, or rather the person inevitably attached to it, helps him up.

_be successful. idiot. watch your posture. too fat. too much. first impressions mean everything._

frankie blinks a few times, and a tanned face is now in front on him, staring at him. “and who are you?” 

"that’s zachary," oliver supplies, wrestling with frankie’s bags. "and that’s livvy," he continues, pointing to a little girl with a high ponytail who’s rocking on her heels, with what appears to be excitement.

when frankie turns back towards zachary, he is already walking, or more accurately, jogging, away. frankie wonders where he’s going, and he almost starts to follow, but oliver and livvy are already headed towards the house with his bags, the puppies following them. 

"come! come! we have to show you the house!" livvy calls. 

"i’d prefer if you’d just show me to my room," frankie grimaces, grabbing his bag from oliver once they’re inside the house. the first room is the kitchen, which is also the dining room. it’s cramped and smells and frankie counts seven dirty plates in the sink.

livvy pouts. “but you’re going to be here all summer, you need to know where-“

"show him to his room, livvy," oliver tells her, poking his head into the refrigerator and pulling out some sort of soda. 

_soda. fat thighs. fat arms. fat. bad for complexion. fat. water. under one hundred. to be successful you must never give up._

frankie follows livvy up a narrow staircase and down an even narrower hall. 

"this is your room. it has a wonderful view, right out into the yard!" she tells him excitedly, plopping herself down on the bed. frankie drops his bag at the foot of it.

 

* * *

 

the room is dingy, to say the least. frankie finds himself wondering why he expected anything else. he washes his hands in the sink that he finds in the corner of the room.

she’s right - you can see the whole yard from the window. 

he can see the puppies that had knocked him down playing in front of the house, a barn farther out, and what seems like a hundred trees. under one is zachary, who he’s now worked out to be the oldest of his cousins, and is chopping wood. 

frankie only allows himself to observe him for a few moments, then he turns back to the bed, which livvy is still occupying. 

the bed itself is nice enough. the sheets are worn but there are no holes in them, that he can see at least, so he figures that’s something. 

it takes a bit of doing, but after some cursing, frankie finally gets livvy out of his room. he unpacks, putting most of his things in the dresser and only hanging things up that would normally be ironed, since he’s pretty confident he won’t have access to one. 

when he returns to the window and finds that zachary is nowhere to be seen in the yard anymore, he doesn’t let himself feel disappointment.

_disappointment is only possible through expectation. life isn’t fair._


	2. Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> au based on the film how i live now. frankie as daisy and zach as edmond. if you've never seen the film, daisy is an american teenager who battles with anorexia and hears voices in her head. the same themes are present in this au.
> 
> title is a quote from the novel the film is based on. as always, thank you to amanda for being my beta.

"frankie! cousin frankie!" livvy shouts, jumping up from her seat at the table. frankie flinches when she grabs his arm and drags him over to sit at the table with her.

"we have pancakes, blood sausage, and juice in the fridge if you’d like," oliver offers. "mom will be around tonight. she’s in london."

"she’s going to save us from the new world war," livvy adds, still shouting.

"go on, eat," oliver urges him, dismissing livvy with a roll of his eyes.

"i don’t really eat in the morning," frankie tells them. he has a dozen more excuses at the ready but his cousins are easy, oliver shrugging while livvy goes back to her own breakfast. 

he watches in disgust as his cousins eat their food, livvy nearly choking, she gulps the blood sausage down so fast. frankie hadn’t been totally convinced blood sausage was a real thing before arriving in the uk and now he wishes it wasn’t. he feels sick to his stomach, but there’s nothing there to throw up.

"can you pass me the water, oliver?" he asks abruptly, making oliver cough on what frankie guesses is supposed to be a pancake.  

once he’s passed the pitcher, he fills the glass sat beside his plate, trying not to think about the putrid sink the glass probably came from moments before he arrived downstairs.  

as he pours, the front door of the house opens and there’s an unfamiliar voice saying “morning”, and frankie almost drops the pitcher.  

it’s the first time he’s heard zachary speak, and he’s surprised such a muted voice comes from him. zachary isn’t exactly tall. he’s likely only a few inches taller than frankie himself, but the solemn look that makes itself at home on his face, along with his posture - back held straight and head high - emits an air of authority. 

when zach rests his back against the sink and silently stares at frankie, it makes him uncomfortable. he finds himself looking down, drinking from his glass in gulps and feeling minuscule under the gaze. he feels like he’s submitting to something, or someone, and that angers him.

he snaps his eyes up to meet zachary’s. he expects zachary to feel caught and look away, but he doesn’t. his eyes fix with frankie’s and frankie feels like he’s in third grade, having a staring contest while the teacher lectures about times tables. except instead of times tables, it’s fishing and swimming and instead of a teacher, it’s oliver. 

"zach," oliver barks, trying to get his brother’s attention. "i asked if you’d like to go fishing today," he continues once zachary is looking towards him, and no longer frankie.

frankie doesn’t like the way his own eyes still stay on zachary, or  _zach_ , and he doesn’t like the words that his mind comes up with for him; winsome, lovely, important. they should be words like pompous, and mute, and cousin. 

"sounds fine," zachary tells oliver, turning to leave the kitchen just as suddenly as he had walked away from frankie the day before. 

 

* * *

 

frankie washes his hands in the sink in the corner of his room three times and stands in front of his window scanning the yard for zach twice before someone knocks. 

he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t particularly want whoever it is to come in. the door opens with a squeak anyways and zach steps into the room. he hangs by the doorway, almost shyly, but his stare never falls to the floor.

zach is always staring, frankie has noticed. when he looks at something, or someone, it’s never a glance or a glimpse, always a direct, intense stare. frankie both admires and loathes it.

"what do you want?" frankie questions, breaking the strained silence. 

"oliver wants you to come with them, to go fishing with him and livvy," zach explains, never breaking the stare. 

frankie hesitates. “you’re not going?”

"no."

"oh."

"will you be? going, that is."

"no," frankie answers with a shrug, quickly turning around to the small desk in front of the window and looking through the cds he has strewn there. 

he can sense zach staring at him for what must be another full minute before he hears the door creak shut. he lets out a deep exhale.

_be successful. strive for success. avoid obstacles._

 

* * *

frankie imagines he looks a bit like bambi, knobby knees bumping together as he scampers through the forest. he hopes that one day he will be thin enough to do something so delicate as scamper.

he can’t be alone in the house. there are too many thoughts and too many things and not enough space. 

outside, though, it’s open and green and calm, almost idyllic. it feels like what he used to envision heaven to be like, back when his father still took him to church where they still promised him everlasting life and the lord’s unconditional love. 

it was only a year ago that frankie had realized what a cruel joke religion and the church all is. only a year since his father had started trying to find ways to ship him off. 

first was aunt penelope’s place in chicago for christmas break, then a semester at a boarding school in north georgia (which could more accurately be described as a conversion therapy facility), and now the black-sheep cousins in the united kingdom.

 _visiting the uk will be a sublime experience, travel will culture you and give you time to contemplate things, reflect_ , his father had said.

frankie doubted he would only be in the uk for the summer, visiting, but more expected it would become his permanent residency. in the solitude of the forest, he doesn’t find that to be such an objectionable reality. 

he didn’t much care for his cousins. perhaps he had set them up to disappoint; expecting the abominable, united kingdom equivalents to rednecks or hicks that his father had described with great distaste over the years (before he had decided to ship frankie to them, at that time changing his tune and singing their praises). 

but, with his father now regarding him with the same distaste, and considering him an even greater abomination than them, maybe this is where frankie belongs. 

frankie is now a black sheep, with a far darker, heinous wool than any of his cousins.  

sounds of fluttering, something hitting against tin or aluminum in rapid succession, pulls frankie from his thoughts. 

he follows the sounds, creeping through the thick trees to the left of the some-what cleared path he had been following.  

he reaches the edge of a more circular clearing in just a few yards, and on the other side of the clearing is zach. his back is to frankie and he’s cautiously reaching into what looks like a dented up mailbox. when there’s more fluttering noises and a flash of movement in the mailbox, and he pulls the hand out, wincing, frankie can see he has a thick leather work glove on. 

frankie shifts his weight, which is just great enough to cause a twig under his right foot to splinter. the crunching noise echos across the clearing. 

even with a good six yard clearing and a crowd of shrubs and branches between them, it seems like frankie can feel zach’s stare boring into him. 

_fuck up. mates are not necessary to lead fulfilling lives. caught. running burns one-hundred calories per mile._

 

* * *

frankie wakes up to a rumpus and a pounding in his forehead. 

he creeps down the stairs, desperately trying to keep silent. he’d rather not deal with livvy or oliver, but he mainly fears an unpleasant run-in with zachary. he follows the stuttering noises down a hall he hasn’t explored or been shown yet, and at the end of it he finds a cracked door with light flooding from it.  

he squints, trying to let his eyes adjust to the yellow lighting coming from the room. he sees his cousins’ mother, hunched over a bulky computer and with a phone to her ear. a floorboard creaks when he attempts to back away, and, for the second time in twenty-four hours, he is caught.

"who’s there?" their mother, lorette, if frankie recalls correctly, calls. frankie can see her snatching her glasses from her face and turning in her chair to face the door. 

"frankie. um, it’s frankie." 

"oh, frankie! come in, come in," she calls, placing her glasses back on her nose and minimizing the screen of her computer. frankie slips into the room, not opening the door any wider than is necessary.

the room is humid, dank. papers and books are scattered all over, a thick layer of dust covering most of them. it seems evident the make-shift office is rarely occupied. 

besides the wide, wooden desk chair lorette sits in, there are two crude wooden stools against the wall alongside the door. one is stacked with what looks like chemistry text books, and one with papers that frankie deduces to be financial statements of some sort by the numerous dollar amounts printed on them. he stacks the papers on the text books and sits down. he grimaces, the stool hard and knobby against his backside. 

"did the boys show you around? i hope livvy isn’t too.. effervescent, for your liking," lorette inquires, moving a pile of the papers on her desk around before turning to face him.  

"she’s fine. oliver showed me around for the most part," frankie tells her, voice still sleepy and soft. 

"and zachary? i know he can be a bit detached," she removes her glasses once again and chews on one the earpieces, "but i do hope he’s been hospitable." 

frankie stiffens at the mention of his eldest cousin. zach is frigid, perplexing. he makes frankie feel on edge, yet he finds himself surveying the yard for him every time he passes the window in his room.   

"he’s been very welcoming," frankie lies. lorette doesn’t seem to believe him, but she doesn’t dispute the claim. 

"is your room alright? we have extra bedding - oliver can dig it up for you. if you need it, just ask him. i do hope you’re liking the room, rosie always adored it," she rambles, looking more into space than at frankie.

frankie sits up straighter on his stool, “rosie? my mother came here?” 

actually looking  _at_  frankie now, lorette’s eyes light up. “didn’t you know that, dear? she loved it here, called it her own little heaven.” 

_don’t be your father. eight hundred women died in childbirth last year alone. the five stages of grief. dead, dead, dead, dead, dead._

a phone on the desk rings, beeping so loudly frankie’s headache returns instantly, worse than before. 

lorette gives him a sad smile before turning her chair back around, putting her back to him. 

"no, i told you i don’t want to leave them alone right now. we both know what’s coming…" 

frankie slips out, taking perverted comfort in how little the door needs to be opened for him to fit through. 


	3. Secure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> au based on the film how i live now. frankie as daisy and zach as edmond. if you've never seen the film, daisy is an american teenager who battles with anorexia and hears voices in her head. the same themes are present in this au.
> 
> title is a quote from the novel the film is based on. as always, thank you to amanda for being my beta.

frankie watches his cousins send their mother off through the window in his room. she kisses oliver and livvy, zach packing her things into the back of the airport shuttle she’s leaving in. it’s one of those generic silver vehicles that resemble a mini van, the ones that sometimes wait outside the baggage check exit.

he wonders if his father would even care if he knew how much lorette is absent. he highly doubts it.

he’s washing his hands when there’s a knock on the door, and he expects it to be zach like the day before, but this time it’s oliver.

"do you want to go swimming with us?" he asks, peeking his head into the room. 

"no," he dismisses immediately, drying his hand on a ratty towel he found in the linen closet and hung over the side of the sink.

_harmful bacteria and sea life excrement settle on the water’s surface. coward. always a coward. eighty percent of drowning victims are male. to be successful you must take risks._

"you sure?" oliver presses, stepping fully into the room but keeping a hand on the doorknob. "it’s our last chance before mom’s friend comes to sit us. she’s crazy, thinks swimming is dangerous or something," he says, trying to convince frankie.

 _it is_ , frankie thinks. he stays muted, stares at oliver’s reflection in the mirror over the sink, and after a few moments, oliver feels either awkward or uncomfortable enough to leave. he shuffles out, closing the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

he doesn’t want to swim, but he wants to be left alone in the house even less. there are still too many thoughts and too many things and there’s still not enough space.

in what feels like defeat, he makes his way downstairs. when he makes it to the kitchen, he pauses, gripping the back of a chair that’s pushed up to the table. he almost retreats back up to his room - to wash his hands again, to sleep, and to see if he can find a scale somewhere in this god forsaken house while his cousins aren’t around to question him.

instead, he lets out a deep sigh and makes his way through the front door. the puppies are out in the yard, running around with livvy and yapping happily. frankie trips over one, the one with white patches, and he catches zach snickering at him.

"you’re going after all?" oliver asks, an irritating grin on his face.

"only to save myself from boredom," frankie insists, his face staying deadpan. frankie hates that oliver and zach look smug, and he almost wishes he had stayed inside. he feels like a teased child.

oliver nods and starts heading towards the dirt road leading out of the yard, and they all start to follow only to stop in their tracks. there’s a loud, blazing sound overhead and all the trees wish with the force of the wind. they’re planes, military and in v-formation, and they look like a visual aid out of a vietnam war chapter of a textbook. even the puppies are motionless.

they pass over in a matter of seconds, the trees going still just as suddenly as they’d started swaying.

"what was that?" livvy whines.

"nothing," oliver shrugs, "let’s go." he pushes livvy’s shoulder to get her to stop staring at the sky and start walking again.

 

* * *

  

frankie’s never seen water this clear in the states. he’s seen glossy pictures in magazines where you can see a log a mile down in a lake, or where a fish looks like it’s just under the surface of the water when it’s ten feet under. he’s positive this water is clearer.

it’s so clear that he can see rocks and moss in the bottom of the spring, and small fish swimming around with his cousins. he wishes his mind could be as clear as this water.

frankie perches on a fallen tree trapped behind two still standing others, on the hill at the shore of the water, above the rocks along the edge that livvy and oliver are taking turns jumping off of. frankie’s not even sure what to label the body of water itself - a river or lake, or maybe a spring. the puppies dog paddle around in it so desperately that it’s almost comical.

"aren’t you going to swim?" livvy asks him, squinting at the sun being partially eclipsed by frankie’s head.

"no. i don’t swim," frankie explains.

"you’ll swim," oliver laughs, "no one comes here and doesn’t swim."

frankie purses his lips and tries not to roll his eyes. he’s having a good time, such a good time that he almost does want to swim. childishly, he doesn’t want his cousins to know that.

"i don’t swim," he repeats.

he goes back to watching, listening, admiring. only now he’s not so much admiring the water, but zachary.

zach pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing his back and shoulders and frankie is enthralled. zach’s waist is that of a woman who’s been waist training for years - like he wears a corset while he’s working out in the yard or to bed every night. frankie suspects that’s not exactly a reality, but zach in a corset is an oddly appealing image.

he’s not sure if his waist is really that small, or just is in comparison to his shoulders. his shoulders are broad and muscled, leading to equally muscled arms.

androgynous is the word that comes to frankie. zach’s face is very male, complete with scruff and thick brows. it’s pretty, but male. his body, though, is this wonderful mixture of stereotypical male and female physiques. 

zach’s attitude and communication skills are grotesque, but his appearance is striking.

he turns then, eyeing frankie, and then stumbling over the rocks to talk to oliver. they whisper, and then frankie is being asked to come look at something down by the water.

he knows it’s a trick. he expects to be thrown in, but he doesn’t expect what zach whispers to him as he does it.

"you need a distraction, something to distract you from all that stuff jumbled up inside your head."

 

* * *

 

"do you like it?" oliver asks when frankie finally gives in, taking and nibbling the chipolata sausage-on-a-stick livvy has been shoving towards him for five minutes.

"it’s.. gritty," frankie grimaces. it’s worse than gritty. it’s gritty and greasy and spongy all at the same time.

frankie chews, silently thanking god he’d only taken a small bite. it’s possibly - no, certainly - the worst thing he’s ever eaten. he thinks he can make it without spitting it out, but he bites down on a piece of gristle and can’t control the gagging that follows.

oliver and livvy erupt into laughter, and even zach smirks.

frankie wants to be mad, but he can’t.

it’s chilly, but the sun is still out, hiding behind the fluffy white clouds that form abstract bunnies and kittens. they’re all circled around a small camp fire, roasting peppers and meats. the pasture they’re in is expansive, no brown spots or dirt patches to be seen. he feels at ease, like he can enjoy himself and actually show it. 

the puppies run around them, eating scraps of peppers and meat that get dropped or fall off the sticks they’re kebabbed on.  

it’s the puppies who sense it first. they whine, little choked, painful noises, and press their stomachs to the ground. 

zach stands up, looking out to the west as if he’s just as sensitive as the dogs. the wind picks up, blowing with even more strength than when the planes passed overhead back at the house.

by the time the rest of them are to their feet, there’s a avalanche of deafening sound. red and orange and coal black colors dance in the western sky. it’s horrifying, yet it happens so fast none of them can even process the feeling. 

frankie watches as the puppies start waddling back through the field, towards the house, and wonders why they’re smart enough to flee while he and his cousins still stand frozen. 

when he looks back from the puppies, refocuses on his own surroundings, he’s suddenly aware of the fallout starting to cover them and the ground. 

it’s something between shreds of paper and snow, and you can reach out and catch it. there’s no sting, no burn, no flesh-eating element like frankie would associate with the mere word fallout. 

"come on, let’s get home," zach tells them, picking up the few plates and kebabs scattered around and hurriedly throwing them into the basket.   

"what was it, zachy?" livvy asks.

frankie snaps back to reality with a start when zach barks, “now, livvy,” back at her.

frankie feels like he’s underwater. he can’t think, he can’t breathe. he keeps wracking his brain, trying desperately to form a coherent thought. he can’t do more than mindlessly follow zach back over the hill until they’re almost back to the house.

_chernobyl. acid rain. seventeen million contaminated. dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. two world wars.._

suddenly livvy’s voice is back in his head, “she’s going to save us from the new world war.”

 

* * *

 

"she’s not here," livvy cries when they get back to the house, looking towards zach as if he can fix it all.

"who?" frankie asks, still standing near the doorway.

"mom’s friend, the neighbor. she’s the one who’s supposed take care of us while mom’s away," oliver explains as zach searches through cabinets and drawers.

zach finally finds what he’s looking for - a chunky hand crank radio. he drops down on the couch, letting livvy crowd into his side as he starts to wind it up. 

"what’s happening, zach?" livvy sounds like she’s really about to start crying, and frankie knows the feeling. 

jumping over the back of the couch, oliver settles in beside livvy. “world war three, duh,” he scoffs, knocking his shoulder against her’s. 

zach speaks for the first time since they got back to the house, ordering oliver to shut up. 

frankie can’t do it. he can’t keep standing here, at the door, but he can’t join them on the couch either. he can’t deal with this.

even back home, where he didn’t feel loved or have any sense of belonging, he still felt safe. being the son of a wealthy man with business associates halfway to being criminals provided you with a certain level of security, regardless if your father would prefer to claim you as his offspring or not. zach doesn’t exactly make frankie feel loved, but he and livvy and oliver do make him feel like he belongs. two teenage boys and a little girl in a tattered house out in some rural area of the united kingdom, however, doesn’t feel secure in any capacity and frankie can’t deal with that. 

when very little is certain and good, you cling to the things that are. being safe, being secure, knowing that he’ll be alive tomorrow unless death is a choice he makes for himself is something frankie has clung to for as long as he can remember. 

he doesn’t even remember how he gets there, how he gets up the stairs and down the hall and into his room, but he’s in front of the sink with his hands bloody from washing before he has another cogent thought. 

wet, soap, scrub, rinse, repeat. wet, soap, scrub, rinse, repeat. wet, soap, scrub, rinse, shake.

he can’t stop shaking. his whole body feels like it’s vibrating, like he’s going to crumble into a pile of dust any minute now.

 

* * *

 

downstairs, the radio informs zach, oliver and livvy that it’s war, that it’s a nuclear war, and that civil law has been suspended. three things that livvy doesn’t understand, that oliver pretends he doesn’t understand, and that zach wishes he doesn’t understand.

 

* * *

 

light rain washes the snow-like fallout away while they sleep. the gentle pitter-patter on the roof lulls them, makes the atmosphere feel calm and untroubled. it doesn’t even hint at the war erupting all around them.  


	4. Burden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> au based on the film how i live now. frankie as daisy and zach as edmond. if you've never seen the film, daisy is an american teenager who battles with anorexia and hears voices in her head. the same themes are present in this au.
> 
> title is a quote from the novel the film is based on. as always, thank you to amanda for being my beta.

"frankie, frankie." 

frankie mumbles and snuffles softly against his pillow, trying to bring himself out of sleep. he doesn’t understand why anyone is awake or, more importantly, why they’re also disturbing him, not when sleep is such an easy escape from reality. 

the voice tells him to wake up, the firm hand gripping his shoulder shaking him again. 

it takes a few fluttered blinks for his eyes to adjust, the light flooding through the window far too bright for this early in the morning. 

zach is who he ends up seeing, when his eyes finally focus. 

"what?" frankie asks, having fully expected it to be oliver wanting to complain about livvy, or livvy herself wanting frankie to play dress up with her. 

"c’mon," zach murmurs, immediately standing straight again and turning towards the door. 

frankie is flustered, untangling himself from his bed sheets and wiping his eyes, scanning the room for suitable shoes. as he slips his feet into a pair he finds tucked under the sink, he questions himself as to why he so compliantly follows zach’s instructions.  

he’s not sure what it is, maybe the unwavering authority that’s a staple in zach’s tone, or maybe he’s just that lost and desperate for direction, for a distraction. 

when they reach the front door, frankie hesitates, a thousand memories from textbooks and articles about fallout and airborne agents and pollution flashing in his head. 

"what if there’s fallout?" frankie calls out, zach already half way across the yard. 

zach says nothing. he just keeps walking. 

too biddable for his own good, frankie follows. 

silently, they make their way down the trail frankie had walked his first day here. zach slows every few yards, glancing back to make sure frankie is still following. 

t’s not long before they come to a clearing and frankie doesn’t understand why they’re stopping at first.

he scans the clearing and his eyes land on a familiar looking mailbox, even more dinged and bent than the last time he saw it. 

zach starts walking again, crossing the clearing, and frankie trails after him. 

there’s fluttering as zach picks his leather glove off the ground, where it had been leaned up against the post supporting the mailbox. 

at this point, frankie’s fairly sure he knows what they’ll find inside, but when zach undoes the hatch and tugs it open, frankie’s breath is still taken away. 

it’s a hawk, or a eagle, or something native to the united kingdom, frankie doesn’t know. all he knows is it’s beautiful; a mess of grays and browns and blacks, white around it’s eyes and at the end of it’s tail. it looks strong, stern, and it stares right into frankie’s eyes. it’s stare is even heavier and more direct than zachary’s. 

frankie wonders why zach would keep such a stunning creature locked up, keep it out of the open sky where it belongs. 

as if zach can read his mind, he explains, “his wing was injured. he’s been staying here while he heals.”

zach takes him to the highest point of the hills, up above where they swam and where they were when they heard and felt the explosion. up here they can see dark smoke from fires in the distance swirling and dancing in contrast to the crisp blue of the sky. 

when they let the bird go, zach holds the gloved hand it’s perched on up, and the bird spreads it’s wings. it flies out over the rolling hills, the smoke, the fires, and the war unfolding down on earth. it’s arresting, and frankie is so jealous. he wishes he could spread his wings and fly away, too. he wishes zach could heal him the way he healed the beautiful bird.

"i’m sorry," frankie whispers, breaking the long silence. 

"what?" zach asks, jerking around to face frankie. "what are you sorry for?"

"for being here," frankie explains, voice trembling. "i’m a burden. you have enough to worry about with livvy and oliver, and i’m a burden on you all. i’m sorry." 

"no, you’re not. i’m glad you’re here," zach stresses, "this isn’t your fault."

frankie shakes his head, desperately trying to keep any tears from falling. crying will only make him more a burden. 

suddenly, he can feel zach’s hands on him. he jumps, jerking away slightly in surprise, but zach keeps his hands steady. they snake from frankie’s hip bones around to the small of his back, then up towards his shoulder blades as zach pulls him into his chest. frankie keeps his head down the whole time, too embarrassed to make eye contact. he feels like a pouting child who needs to be consoled.  

they stand on the hill long enough for the wind to start biting through their clothes, but both of them are too preoccupied relishing in each other’s body heat to take much offense. 

it’s the first time in a long time frankie has had intimacy with someone and the very first time it’s with someone who’s not a relative.

it’s boyish and virgin, to be so enchanted with an embrace, but frankie can’t help it. and he knows it sounds like a fairy tale, some daytime movie plot, but wrapped up in zach’s arms, on top of a hill with fluffy green grass and a sun setting in the distance, frankie feels safe.  

 

* * *

 

there’s not much to do, the power out and the possibility of fallout of poor air conditions keeping them inside. 

oliver has board games shoved under his bed, packages dusty and starting to decay from age. he and livvy pull them out, attempting to not rip the packages as they do.  

frankie searches through the kitchen cabinets, getting no help from zach (who just leans against the door frame between the kitchen and living area, watching frankie shuffle around the kitchen) as he maneuvers through the jumble of pots, pans, containers, lids, dry foods, canned vegetables, and dried meats sealed in plastic. he manages to find crackers, along with cheese he thinks should probably be stored in the refrigerator.    

they all settle at the small coffee table in front of the couch, attempting to throw themselves into the games and forget about the war. with all their might, they try to forget about all the uncertainty and fear. 

oliver cracks jokes that even zach laughs at and livvy gets caught cheating twice before she finally quits, sitting up on the couch behind zach and pouting.

it seems to be working, they seem to be enjoying themselves, but frankie can’t get the pit out of his stomach or the lump out of his throat.

every time zach looks at frankie, frankie feels sick.

he’s angry. he’s angry at zach for making him feel this way and he’s angry at himself for allowing it. he wants to keep up his animosity towards zach. he wants zach to keep being cold and distant. it’s easier, so much easier than zach making him feel safe. so much easier than being dependent and vulnerable.

he can’t take it, he can’t handle it, and he feels like he’s on a roller coaster of emotions.  _god, what a clich_ _é_. one minute he’s desperate for security, desperate to feel safe again, and the next minute zach is giving him those things. but then another minute passes and it’s too much and frankie wants to get off the roller coaster and get back on solid ground. 

he wants a security he can hold onto, something tangible or constant, not the security you find in another person. not one based in feelings and emotions. 

frankie feels like if he sits across from zach any longer he’s going to explode. 

he gets up, dropping the cards pinched between his sweaty fingers and holding his breath as he heads towards the front door. this time, fallout doesn’t even cross his mind. 

once he’s outside, he can hear zach following him. their feet squish loudly into the wet ground and the sound of frankie’s labored breaths filling the humid air. it’s dark, the moon and stars out like they don’t know any better. it’s as if they don’t know there’s a war they should be hiding from.

none of the downstairs windows in the house allow you to see past the edge of the yard, frankie knows, so that’s where he stops. 

he doesn’t even turn around, just gasps for air and tries to calm down enough for his chest to stop heaving. he’s clammy, having broken out in a cold sweat the second he passed through the doorway and hit the chilled air.  

zach’s there - everywhere - hands more insistent than on the hill, and his hands are pulling frankie’s chin up to his level instead of into his chest. 

their lips meet, and it’s grubby. there’s a lot of teeth being clashed together and frankie’s still sweating. zach’s hands are still grabbing at frankie, trying to keep him from pulling away.

it’s the worst kiss frankie’s ever had, he thinks, and it’s only the first. there’s too much lip and not enough breathing, and he starts getting dizzy, which he’s pretty certain means he’s going to pass out. 

he finally musters enough strength and focus to push zach away. zach huffs, grunts, whimpers, begs without using any words. 

"we can’t. we can’t," frankie chants, "i can’t."

 

* * *

 

when they hear the sounds of a vehicle rumbling up the road they’re all apprehensive. livvy asks zach if it’s their mother before the beaten-up explorer even gets to the yard. he shakes his head and rests a hand on her shoulder.

it’s coated in dust, the tires and front end caked with mud. from what frankie remembers of the military vehicles around the airport and at the checkpoints, this is not one of them. 

as soon as whoever it is stops in front of the house, zach is out the door. 

a man in a cheap, dark blue suit wearing a cheap hair piece practically falls out of the driver’s seat, papers falling from the over-stuffed binder he’s holding onto the ground. he seems flustered as he bends over to pick them up.

"can i help you?" they can hear zach ask. 

"is there a frankie, um, grande here?" the man inquires, straightening but still shuffling papers around in the binder. 

frankie stiffens, oliver and livvy turning to stare at him wide-eyed. he doesn’t know what to tell them. he doesn’t know why this mess of a man is here looking for him any more than they do.

 

* * *

 

"can you tell us what’s going on? what’s happening?" zach asks, trying to stop the man before he can get back in his vehicle. 

"look, they’ll be out here soon," the man tells him, looking annoyed by the questions. he tries to push past zach, but zach steps back in front of him. 

"who’s they?" 

"they - the government. didn’t you hear, civil law and all?” the man steps around zach this time and zach lets him. he rolls down the window as he cranks his car, adding, "they’ll evacuate this area soon. you should just stay inside until then." 

 

* * *

 

frankie watches the interaction between the man and zach through the window, watches zach go back to chopping wood once the man drives away. he exits the house when zach’s half a pile of firewood in, cautiously walking out into the yard. 

"he said they’d send me home, the consulate and all," frankie tells him. he feels awkward, like after last night he doesn’t have the right to approach zach. 

"i assumed," is all zach says. he doesn’t look up or stop what he’s doing. 

"they said there’d be an evacuation soon, right?" frankie asks.

"we’re not waiting for some evacuation," zach tells him, so much conviction in his voice that frankie’s head snaps up to concentrate fully on him. "there’s another barn, a good mile out in the woods. we’ll live there. we don’t need any evacuation or government housing or whatever the hell they’ll be offering." 

zach says it with such a certainty that, against his better judgement, frankie believes him.   


	5. Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> au based on the film how i live now. frankie as daisy and zach as edmond. if you've never seen the film, daisy is an american teenager who battles with anorexia and hears voices in her head. the same themes are present in this au.
> 
> title is a quote from the novel the film is based on. as always, thank you to amanda for being my beta.

the barn’s cold at night, half rotted wood siding and the thin metal tin of the roof don’t do much to keep out the chill or the wind. the hay helps, packed into the crack between the walls and the dusty, pressed dirt of the floor.

they’d brought all the bedding they could find in the house to the barn with them. zachary had enough gumption to collect all the sheets and blankets and quilts, and as a group they dragged them all over the hill to the barn. even the few ratty, flower-print pillow cases and ugly, stained towels they’d found stuffed down in the bottom of the linen closet got brought along. 

part of livvy’s stuffed animal collection snuck it’s way in, too.

oliver sleeps with a scratchy, blue-black quilt every night, one his mother had sewn him as a child, he had explained when frankie offered him a softer quilt that was only being used for a make-shift wall between the area below the loft and the rest of the barn. frankie, himself, takes a liking to the sapphire sheet set they’d taken off lorette’s bed, and he and zach sleep wrapped up in them. they make him feel royal, beautiful, even in the sadness of the barn. 

an adventure is how livvy treats it. she finds excitement and delight in making her bed and cooking their food over a pit, or stilling when she thinks she might hear a stranger in the forest. it’s like playing house or a game of freeze tag to her.

oliver lets himself pretend it’s a game, an adventure, but frankie’s certain he knows better. oliver is too old to not realize the reality of things, but still too young to do much about it.

frankie, himself, feels hopeless. there’s no foreseeable light at the end of the tunnel, there’s no goal to work towards.  _be successful_ , his mind still whispers. how do you, however, be successful, when there is no clear definition of success?

frankie knows how zach feels. he knows he feels warm when they lay together at night, he knows his hands feel hard and callused, and he knows the feeling of having zach’s heartbeat under his fingertips.

however, he’s not sure how long it’s been since zach has felt.

zach hasn’t spoken since the move to the barn. he grunts when he chops wood, hums when livvy talks at him (frankie’s not sure if she even notices his silence under all her own yammer), and stifles laughs when oliver tells a joke. at night frankie wakes up to zach’s whines, which only subside when frankie soothes him - pressing lips to zach’s feverish skin to chase the nightmares away.

all these sounds make frankie confident that zach has a voice, that he’s just choosing not to use it. he’s not sure if that’s comforting or alarming, but the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach hints towards the latter. 

 

* * *

 

they fall into their roles fairly easily. 

livvy, too young to do much in the way of labor or care taking, spends her days with the puppies. she ambles around the barn and through the forest with them, only venturing to the deepest parts of the woods when zach accompanies her. when she tires of the wandering, she returns to the barn to take naps or help frankie peel fruits. frankie prefers her to nap, frustrated when half the fruit ends up in the pups’ mouths or she manages to injure her fingers with the dull knife he keeps specifically for her to use. 

oliver helps zach forage and chops wood for the pit when frankie’s cooking stew or meat for dinner. he desperately wants to partner with zach for hunts, but if he asks zach, he shakes his head solemnly and stays in a sour mood the remainder of the day. 

hunting and scavenging keeps zach out in the woods and away from the barn for the better part of most days. fruits and small animals are plentiful throughout the forest, but they rely primarily on dried meat and canned vegetables from the house. zach possesses a sizable knowledge of nature and the woods and manages to bring back weeds, berries, and plants that frankie can use to spice and flavor their otherwise bland meals. 

all the slack between the three of them is frankie’s job. he keeps the barn as clean as is possible, hanging up and beating the dirt out of the thicker quilts every two or three days. preparing and cooking meals takes up most of his time, spending at least an hour every morning re-rationing out the rice, flour, dried meat, and canned vegetables they brought with them from the house. after three days of having half empty buckets of water brought back to him by livvy and oliver, he undertakes the task of collecting water from the spring and bringing it back to the barn himself.

after a while it almost feels like a dynamic, like they’re becoming a family of some kind.

_don't fuck it up again._

 

* * *

 

the night they make love, frankie knows zach feels.

he knows zach feels because this is more than half-lidded, half-asleep pressing, more than lips ghosting over lips, and more than a mess of limbs tangled in sapphire.

with every thrust, frankie’s back scrapes against the ground, only sheets between the earth and his flesh. he can barely focus on the stimulation at first, trying hopelessly to keep his breath from growing ragged. oliver and livvy are fast asleep in the loft, but frankie still fears being too loud and waking them.

zach goes slow, taking his time, dragging in and out. he presses his lips behind frankie’s ear, and it’s so close and so muffled that when he whimpers out frankie’s name, it almost goes unnoticed. zach immediately straightens his arms back up, moving his mouth away from frankie’s ear like he’s afraid of what else will be heard if he keeps it there.  

after that, all frankie can focus on is zach. 

his brain goes into overload trying to process everything about zach. the way zach’s back arches is sinful and frankie wants to memorize every line and curve of him. every inch of skin is glistening with a thin layer of sweat and every small sound that falls from zach’s lips is noteworthy, something to take notice of, admire, and file to memory. 

with each blunt hit of pressure against his prostate, frankie’s breath hitches and he knows he’s getting close, that zach probably is too, but he doesn’t want it to end. 

zach’s found his voice, emotion and feeling returning to his face, and that’s why frankie never wants it to end. he doesn’t want the mute, shell of zach that he’s had for the past weeks. he wants the zach he has right now, the zach making love to him. 

they reach it at the same time, the peak that both of them wanted to avoid for as long as they possible could, and when it’s over, zach collapses on top of frankie. 

staring off into space with wide, glassy eyes, frankie keeps a firm hand on zach’s shoulder and runs the other up and down his back. he knows if zach’s weight was off his chest and face was out of the crook of his neck, they’d both catch their breaths in less time, with less effort, but he takes an odd solace in the discomfort. 


	6. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> au based on the film how i live now. frankie as daisy and zach as edmond. if you've never seen the film, daisy is an american teenager who battles with anorexia and hears voices in her head. the same themes are present in this au.
> 
> title is a quote from the novel the film is based on. as always, thank you to amanda for being my beta.

it’s not supposed to happen on this day.

frankie is meant to wake up with zach’s sweaty skin pressed to his, clinging in uncomfortable places and making him feel heated and smothered in contrast to the chill of the morning air. he’s meant to be worn out from the activities that took place the night before, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he promises himself just five more minutes of zach’s company before he starts his day. he’s meant to begrudgingly leave zach’s sticky warmth behind, shivering as he prepares what will probably be a less than satisfactory breakfast of fruits and left over stew for them all to share. 

instead, frankie is awoken by the jarring sounds of rapid gun fire and zach’s weight falling onto him so hard it knocks the breath straight from his chest. 

 

* * *

 

the hard metal of the vehicle digs into frankie’s back, his tailbone throbbing from being shoved into his seat by the soldiers. his head thumps against the wall behind the seat, jarring his skull with every rock and pothole they pass over. he doesn’t remember closing his eyes. 

frankie’s mind races. zach’s voice is there yelling, “whatever happens - whatever happens, you find a way back here,” and then a strangled, “remember what i said, frankie”.

it’s louder than the voices reciting facts and drudging up his most heavily suppressed childhood memories to narrate back to him. it gets so loud - booming, deafening, ear-splitting. his head pounds and there’s a throbbing behind his eyes, and he just wants it to stop. it’s hardly zach’s voice anymore, the individual words so forceful that they all merge into one piercing scream. then, suddenly, it’s gone. 

frankie expects to feel relief. he expects his head to stop pounding and his heartbeat to return to normal. instead, panic sets in. suddenly, it’s too quiet. frankie can’t remember the last time it was  _too_  quiet. 

even back at the barn, taking care of oliver and livvy, the voices still whispered and murmured. they were hushed, almost completely gone sometimes, but never quiet. 

thinking maybe his surroundings will trigger a thought, some memory or sound bite, so he opens his eyes. there’s a sliver of light shining by the side of his head that catches his attention, and he turns to look out the small opening. 

completely stripped of vegetation, the land is barren. apart from burning piles of rubbish, the content of which frankie cannot make out, there is nothing. for as far out as he can see, there is nothing but dehydrated ground - a mixture of brown dirt and black soot. 

"do you think the puppies will be okay without us? will they remember us when we go back?" livvy asks from beside him. her voice is small and frightened, and frankie realizes this must be the first time she’s been away from the country side. 

he gives a weak nod, turning back towards her and away from the pocket-sized window. “yeah, i’m sure they will.” 

closing his eyes again, he tries to remember zach’s voice telling him to  _remember._ he tries to remember what zach looked like, standing out in the clearing in front of the barn with a solider on each side of him, holding him back. he tries to remember how violently zach bucked against their clutches, physically pained by the prospect of separation from frankie.

frankie had always thought of zach as somewhat of a pup, silent until threatened or in need of attention. the way zach keened under frankie’s hands reminded him of a runt, thirsty for tenderness, but fearing it out of self-preservation. 

now, though, frankie thinks it’s possibly he himself who is a canine. he came to them a lost dog, shipped off to a kill shelter when his coat no longer shined with the luster that it once had in the eyes of it’s owner. he’d found more than an owner in zach, he’d found a family.

 

* * *

 

the house is ghostly still, the eerie silence so penetrating that it muzzles even the words in frankie’s head. light pours in through a half-circle window above the front door, but the sun is setting, leaving the foyer cloaked in a dim, pink light. 

during the walk from the vehicle to the door, frankie had cautiously observed the other houses on the block. they’d all been uniform; dull white paint chipping from age and shrubs that hadn’t seen hedge clippers in months out front of every one of them.

they’re in a suburb, frankie knows that much. he knows the where, he just doesn’t know the why. 

the presumed lady of the house eyes frankie with distrust, standing closer to livvy than she does him. her hair is in what looks to be a painfully tight bun, lips stretched into a thin line and painted with an orange wax that washes out her complexion.

none of them speak until the officer leaves. 

"why are  _you_  here? why aren’t you at the farms?” 

frankie has no idea what farms she’s referring to, but he quickly reasons out that they must be where the boys are regularly sent. 

"she was the only girl in my family," he tells her, motioning towards livvy. "i didn’t want her to be alone." 

a tart look is all this earns frankie, but he supposes it’s better than anything argumentative. 

"well, your room is upstairs. there’s just the one, but there are two beds," she tells them, walking up a set of steps that begin just outside the foyer. 

livvy follows first, frankie following up behind her. the carpet on the stairs is an ugly, dull yellow color. it feels thick with filth, even through the rubber bottoms of frankie’s shoes. the hallway’s wallpaper matches the carpeting in ugliness, but in contrast, is a muddy red color that reminds frankie of the kind of scabs that form over torn skin. 

two twin sized beds taking up most of the floor space in the room. a small door that presumably leads to an equally small closet, and a single dresser with deep drawers adorn the wall opposite the beds. scuff marks litter the floor itself, which is hard wood, years of wear and tear evident on each board.  

for the most part, the walls are bare. a sports poster hangs on one wall, a round clock positioned near the light switch on another. the time reads a few minutes past six, and frankie assumes it must be evening. just like in the foyer, the only light is from a window.

a flashback of the disappointment he had felt when he had entered the room his cousins provided him at the house comes back to frankie, and he feels foolish. there is nothing he wouldn’t give to be greeted with thick quilts and a window with a view of something more than a house identical to the one he’s standing in.

"well, i’ll let you all get settled."

frankie’s almost positive this is just an excuse to leave, for the soldiers had given them no time to gather their things and they therefore arrived here with no possessions past the clothes they’re currently wearing. “my husband will be home soon, and then we will sit down for dinner.” 

as livvy apprehensively sits on one of the beds, a spring creaks.

 

* * *

 

"how were the farm workers today?" 

"better. people were work-shy before the war, bodies still adjusting to the exertion." 

frankie wonders why the man isn’t inquiring as to why frankie is not at the farms being put to work. his wife must have repeated frankie’s earlier explanation before calling up that dinner was on the table. 

a tablet of white powder is dropped into the water pitcher, and frankie wonders what it’s made of. he vaguely remembers drinking tang at some point in his childhood, a thin powder, orange in both flavor and color. the phrase ‘tang: what the astronauts drink’ accompanies the memory, and he seems to recall it coming from his father’s mouth.  

when a carefully portioned dinner plate is set in front of him, it’s the first time frankie has thought about his food intake in a month. he’s been so preoccupied with rationing, making sure all four of them get enough nutrients to keep their bodies working and moving, that calorie restriction hasn’t been an option, much less a priority. 

he flexes the muscles of his stomach, taking note of how little fat there is to suck in. he must have lost weight, a few pounds at least, and he can’t fathom how it’s possible that he hasn’t noticed before now. 

before, even a quarter of a pound wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. back in america, and even back in the house with his cousins and their mother, every glimpse in a mirror was an opportunity to take account of his body. his arms, his stomach, the sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline. he was hyper aware of them all.

the self-obsessed behavior he once participated in now seems petty, despite being rooted in mental instability rather than vanity. the awareness of his body never translated to pride or narcissism, but rather disordered eating and a familiarity with the taste of one’s own vomit.  

eating habits and self-image seem like such trivial things, during a time of war.

being ripped from a refuge of family and semi-normality, or at least self-sustainability, only to be forced into someone else’s home, with someone else’s family, eating someone else’s food, is a weight heavier than frankie will ever be. the longing for a home he had only just found, and an intimacy he had only just come to not only accept but cherish, weighs frankie down far more than any pound or binge or scale ever could. 

frankie eats.

the taste of the cold canned meat combined with the texture of the fat gelatin that clings to it is nauseating. he barely suppresses a gag, folding his tongue into the back of his mouth while he chews in an attempt to avoid the flavor. the next bite is chewed only three times, broken up just enough to swallow without choking. 

across from him, livvy appraises her food with doubt, having become accustomed to the sticky fruit and warm, sating broths frankie had prepared for her back at the barn. she looks up, childishly hopping to see frankie opening his mouth to offer to fix them all something more appetizing or at the least, less stomach-churning. 

before frankie had come, livvy had fixed much of her own food. with their mother away more often than not, her and her siblings had learned to fend for themselves. zachary really didn’t cook so much as burn and scald, so oliver and livvy had learned to throw together meals large enough for themselves and zach.

when frankie had arrived, livvy had been hopeful that he would cook for them, even if it was american food. she had been discouraged directly after his arrival, when he had seemed disinterested in eating their food much less fixing any of his own. later, in the barn, he had surprised her. 

to her dismay, frankie only nods towards her plate, signalling her to eat. 


End file.
